


Gods of the Arena

by Delanach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delanach/pseuds/Delanach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU based in the Spartacus Blood and Sand universe.  Seven years after Dean lost Sam, he finds him again, but the brother he thought was dead has changed.  He's now Crowley's champion gladiator.  Dean and Sam have to learn to work together to prepare for a fight to the death.against an unbeaten champion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gods of the Arena

**Author's Note:**

> AU based in the Spartacus Blood and Sand universe, although characters from Spartacus are only used in minor supporting roles. Written for the SPN Reverse Bang 2011 and inspired by the beautiful artwork of adrenalineshots. Make sure to check out the sketch at the end of the fic :)

  


Sweat poured down Dean’s back. Above him, the crowd ringing the arena roared as the clash of weapons intensified. He told himself that this would be like any other fight, and he’d won his fair share during his years as a hunter, but inside, he wondered if he would walk out of the arena once he entered it.

Sitting opposite him, Sam began to ready himself. Dean watched as his brother pulled on boots, wrapping them around his calves, and adding shin guards. Dean mirrored his actions, reaching for the rest of his armor, piece by piece, following Sam’s lead. Once he was done, Sam checked him over, tightening buckles and checking the fit. Dean stepped forward to do the same, but Varro stepped in front of him, giving Sam the once over with practiced hands.

Jealousy spiked in Dean’s chest. It didn’t matter that with his experience, Varro was better placed to make sure Sam was ready for the arena. There was so much of Sam’s life that Dean had missed in the years they’d been apart, so much he didn’t know about his brother that it hurt to realize that someone else had taken his place with his brother. For all he was thankful that Sam hadn’t been on his own, that he had people that cared about him even in this brutal world, it didn’t make it any less painful to witness up close.

“Dean.”

At the sound of Sam’s voice, Dean’s head snapped up, and he took the sword that was offered. He nodded at Sam, testing the weight of it in his hand. Sam stood calm and ready, his hair sticking to his forehead as the heat got to him too. In his mind’s eye, Dean didn’t see Samael, the Bringer of Death, the tall, muscular gladiator that Sam had become in the seven years they’d been apart. He saw the lanky sixteen year old kid Sam had been, all long limbs and lack of co-ordination. He saw the wide smile that Sam would turn on him which always brightened his day.

Grown up Sam smiled less, and when he did, there was no innocence left in his eyes. The handful of weeks Dean had spent in the ludus had given him a taste of what Sam had gone through, but Sam had arrived there at sixteen. Sam had survived on his own, fought his way to the top of the pile and stayed there. He’d earned respect from the other, older gladiators, something Dean knew couldn’t have been easy, and he’d killed countless men and monsters both in the arena and in the Pits of the Underworld.

When Dean had first seen Sam again, after believing him to be dead for seven years, he’d thought Sam didn’t need him. Why would he? Crowley had taken Sam and forced him into a life as a gladiator, earning money for Crowley and furthering his reputation. In return, Crowley had let Sam believe that Dean and John had been killed the night he was taken. A life lived thinking that your family was dead was a hard one, and Sam had risen to the challenge admirably.

Even the shock of seeing Dean again after seven years had been hidden until they were alone. The training yard hadn’t been the ideal place for a reunion, especially as Crowley had thrown Dean in and immediately announced that he was to be paired with Sam in a match against an undefeated champion. It was only later that he discovered that he and Sam would be chained together.

All through Dean’s first days in the ludus, Sam had treated him with contempt, pushing him to fight, refusing to talk to him unless it was completely necessary. But then Crowley had moved Dean into Sam’s sleeping quarters and Dean finally understood why Sam was pushing him away.

The first night, Sam paced, a predator trapped where he didn’t want to be, all coiled muscle, ready to strike. It didn’t take much to push him into unleashing that force.

“Sam, talk to me.” Dean put a hand on Sam’s arm in an attempt to soothe him.

Sam pulled away and snarled at him, eyes dark and dangerous. A different man would have backed down, but not Dean. Not the man who had found what he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago.

“Sammy, look at me.”

Even given Sam’s demeanor, Dean was surprised by the fist that connected sharply with his jaw. He staggered back but Sam pressed the attack, managing to land two more blows before Dean took advantage of his blind rage and caught his next punch, twisting Sam’s arm around until he was forced to his knees. Sam was a gladiator, but Dean had been the one to teach him how to fight dirty.

Dean held him down and bent low to whisper in his ear.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I came to get you out, soon as I knew you were alive. All this time, I thought … I thought you were dead. I didn’t make plans, I couldn’t think straight.” As he talked, his grip lessened and Sam stayed where he was, his head hung low. “It’s my own stupid fault they caught me. We just need to hang on, okay? Dad and Bobby, they’ll be coming for us, I promise.”

“When they took me, that’s what I did,” Sam mumbled. “I hung on, waiting for you or Dad or Bobby to come for me, even when they told me you were all dead. I hung on for two years, Dean, until I finally understood that no-one was ever going to come for me.” Sam’s body was trembling now, no longer from rage but from emotions long held in check. “So I gave up on ever having a life outside. This is my life now, and I’m good at what I do. You … you don’t belong here.” He shrugged Dean off his back and stood up, moving away from him.

“You don’t belong here either.” Dean insisted. “Remember when we were younger, how you’d wait for me to come back from a hunt? You’d lie out in the tall grass and the first thing I’d see when I got to the gate and raised that rusty latch was your head popping up like a damned rabbit. You’d grin at me, and race over so I could pull you up behind me and we’d ride up to the stables together.”

“Don’t.” Sam whispered, goose bumps prickling down his spine as he thought back to his childhood for the first time in years.

“Remember the harvest feasts? When Karen would cook up enough food that the table would groan under the weight of it? Remember the smell of apples baking, full of fruit and spice?”

“No, no I don’t.” Sam whirled round to face Dean, surprised that while he’d been talking, he’d moved closer and now they stood almost nose to nose.

“I remember how you tasted. You were barely sixteen and drunk on a cup of wine, your mouth sweet from the figs you couldn’t get enough of. We were sitting under the big tree, watching the stars and you bent over and kissed me.”

Sam panted, wanting to push away the memories of a time when he was wild and free and reckless enough to follow his heart.

“You smiled and lay back down beside me and we fell asleep right there.” Dean put a hand on Sam’s face. “Tell me you remember, Sammy.”

Sam nuzzled Dean’s palm, eyes closed, the sense memory slamming into him so hard he whimpered.

“I remember.”

Sam’s hands came up to cradle Dean’s face as he bent forward and kissed his brother. Dean’s mouth was warm and opened for him so willingly that he pressed forwards, pushing Dean back across the small room.

The kiss was different from the soft, sweet press of lips that Sam had risked years ago. This kiss was forceful, demanding, edged with desperation and Dean met it with equal need, one hand slipping onto Sam’s neck, fingers pushing up into Sam’s hair, the other snaking around his waist, holding them together as Sam pushed him back against the wall.

Sam’s tongue invaded Dean’s mouth, memorizing the taste of his brother, tangling with Dean’s as Dean kissed him back, hard enough to bruise. He groaned, deep and feral, as Dean’s hand slid down over his stomach and beneath the cloth tied around his waist. He did the same, pushing the fabric aside so he could touch Dean’s cock, nipping at his lips and making Dean buck into his hand.

It was fast and dirty, rough hands working hard flesh until they both shuddered through messy climaxes, mouths stealing softer kisses as they stood close and panting.

“I can’t lose you again.” Sam whispered against Dean’s mouth. “This fight … Crowley wants you dead, and he wants me to see it.”

Dean’s hands dug into Sam’s hair and he pulled him back just enough to look into his eyes.

“Then teach me, show me what I need to do to survive.”

Sam nodded and pulled Dean down to the narrow pallet, burrowing into Dean’s side and resting his head on Dean’s chest as he had when they were younger. Dean stroked his hair and fell into a sleep free of nightmares for the first time since Sam had been taken from him.

 

The next morning, Sam was back to being brusque and moody, but in the training yard, he took Dean aside and put him through his paces, knocking him on his ass again and again until Dean began to get a feel for the fight. The next time their swords clashed, Dean held his own, bringing Sam to a standstill. This earned him a nod of approval from Oenomaus and a cheer from the rest of the gladiators who’d been taking more and more of an interest in their sparring as the morning wore on. But it was Sam giving him the smallest of smiles of approval that made him think there might be hope for them, that as long as they survived, there was a chance for freedom.

They trained hard, until the muscles screamed in Dean’s arms and legs and he wanted to howl with pain. Each night, Sam tended to him, rubbing sweet smelling oil into his aching limbs until his body began to react in other ways. Sam’s fingers wrapped around his cock, working him to completion, a blissful release that left him boneless and relaxed and reaching for his brother to return the favor.

Four days later, Oenomaus had a length of chain brought to him, and attached the ends to shackles around their ankles, tethering them together. It was long enough for them to be able to safely heft their swords without hitting the other, but the added weight on one leg kept throwing Dean off balance. Twice, then three times, he went down, crashing to the ground, landing face down in the dirt. He growled in frustration, and the next time, he made sure it was Sam that ended up on his ass. Sam glowered at Dean as the other gladiators roared with laughter at seeing the great champion bested by his inexperienced brother. Sam got to his feet, and began again. The sun beat down on their shoulders, and Dean’s mood became worse by the minute.

When Oenomaus suggested they both attack him, it didn’t end well, and by the end of the day, Dean was glad to get away from Sam. For his part, Sam sat with Varro while they ate, leaving Dean on his own. Dean slipped back to Sam’s quarters and lay on the bed, willing John to arrive and get them out of there.

“Keep this up, and you’re as good as dead.” Sam walked into the small room and sat down on the stool, keeping his distance from Dean.

“Keep what up?”

“You’re killing time, waiting for them to come so you’re not focused.”

“They’ll come,” Dean insisted, staring up at the ceiling.

“Maybe they will, but that’s not your concern.”

“Not my concern? Sam, we have to be ready to move when it happens.”

“You don’t understand. None of that matters. The only thing that matters is the fight. You have to give everything you have into preparing for this match, or we won’t survive. Then it won’t matter if they come for us or not.”

“They’ll come.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I do, Sam, they won’t leave us here,” Dean snapped, sitting up and glaring.

“You left me here.”

The quiet statement chilled Dean to the bone. Had Sam been this sure, back when he was still not much older than a kid? Wrenched away from his family, and thrown into a brutal world, had he believed as strongly that he’d be rescued, that someone would come for him? Of course he had. Guilt twisted in Dean’s gut.

“If I’d known …”

“But you thought I was dead.” Sam shrugged. “I know, I don’t blame you for anything, Dean, but I can’t rely on the fantasy that we might be rescued. I can’t do that again. The fight is all that matters, and getting you ready to help me win this match.”

Dean reached for him, pulling Sam down to lie with him on the bed. They tangled themselves together, and Dean whispered “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” into Sam’s hair over and over until Sam covered Dean’s mouth with his and distracted him from his misplaced guilt with soft kisses.

From then on, Dean was committed to the task. He took everything in, not just the way a gladiator fought, but he picked up the rules of the arena, and began to understand the brotherhood that bound the fighters together. The next time he and Sam were shackled together, they held their own against Oenomaus.

Day after day, they had trained, and fought until Dean was too tired to eat. Night after night, he’d fallen into exhausted sleep with Sam pressed against his back. He’d begun to forget that anything else existed outside of the punishing routine. He’d focused on becoming a worthy fighting partner for Sam, and pushed aside all thoughts of escape or rescue that might never come.

 

The roar of the crowd brought Dean out of his thoughts and back to where he and Sam waited for their turn in the arena. Dean tried to clear his mind, to prepare himself for what was to come. In a matter of minutes, he would be stepping out onto the sand, Sam by his side, to face not a monster or demon, but a mountain of a man who had never been beaten.

Dean glanced at Sam. His brother stared ahead, his breathing steady, looking every inch the deadly fighter that he’d become. Samael, they called him, the Shadow of Death. Already, the crowd screamed for him, even as the last man to lose his fight was pulled from the arena by his feet, leaving a bloody trail behind. Sam rolled his shoulders back, the bulky armor on his left shoulder making him look even bigger than he was.

There was a clank of metal against metal behind them, and they turned as one, glancing back at Oenomaus who carried the chain that would connect them in the arena. Dean turned away, wishing they’d had more time to train together, hoping he was up to the task of staying alive.

A large hand fell on Dean’s shoulder, startling him, but it stayed where it was, a firm reassurance and one Dean sorely needed. Sam’s thumb touched the nape of Dean’s neck, and Dean looked up at him.

“It’s almost time.” Sam held his gaze, and Dean let out a sigh, nodding his head. “Follow my lead and follow your instincts and we’ll get through this. Trust me.”

Again Dean nodded but Sam didn’t let him go. He could see the sliver of hesitation in Dean’s eyes, and in the fight that was to come, even a split second’s indecision could prove fatal to one or both of them. Sam stepped closer, pressing against Dean’s side.

“You taught me to fight. When I was four, Dad gave me my first wooden sword to play with, and you taught me everything that he taught you, made me understand that it was important to be able to use it properly. Remember?”

“Yes,” Dean murmured.

“All my life, I’ve trusted in you, even here, after years of thinking you were dead, deep down I knew that if you were still alive, you’d come for me, you’d find me, and you did. I’m asking you to trust me now, with all your heart.”

Dean looked up at Sam, and Sam smiled at what he now saw in Dean’s eyes. Understanding of what was being asked of him, and acceptance. They had very little time left before they would have to leave the shade and step out into the sunlight, so Sam pulled Dean close and whispered in his ear.

“There is no life without you.”

Dean pulled back, and stared at Sam, amazed that he’d remembered something Dean had told him years ago. He’d mumbled it into Sam’s hair as he’d held Sam almost tight enough to break his ribs. Sam had been fourteen and on his first hunt, he’d been hurled against a tree by a vengeful spirit hard enough to knock him out for a few minutes. Dean had cradled him in his arms, hardly able to breathe at the thought that he might have lost Sam. Now Sam echoed his words back at him and finally, Dean understood.

It didn’t matter how tall Sam grew, or how deadly he had become, he was still Sam. Dean’s Sammy. Once, it had been the two of them against the world, nothing could separate them and now, the world had turned full circle. Time and distance may have pulled them apart, but they were bound by blood and by love. When they worked together, nothing could stand against them.

Sam stepped back, reaching for his helmet as Dean was handed his. They stood tall as trumpets sounded, heralding their imminent arrival in the arena. As one, they turned and gave each other a curt nod, grim determination in their eyes.

Then as one, they strode out into the sunlight, ready to meet their fate.

  


  



End file.
